Let the chimes fall slowly
On the ears of Earth
This gentle evening. 
Cradle her ancient lung
Below the golden grass breast
As good as heaven was when 
God was born in the sky.
 
       By the wind of gentle evening
        Let the quiet song fall from the chimes. 

How softly my clothing touches my body 
While she celebrates my little life.
All the colours of white explode as the clouds
—wind crashes slowly over the leaves now.
I can feel the air getting ready to cough.
Let the summer draw to a close.
Let every twilight come.
Let the apples turn red as we ready ourselves.
Let me die when my life is done. 

       By the wind of gentle evening
        Let the chimes resound on the Earth.
 
       By the movements of her breath
        Let the Autumn winds cool the grass.

Warm is the wind of paradise, 
Gentle is the summer in Canada.
Let the music echo in her empty cave
Until the sound forgets my ears. 
Let it happen every year 
Before and after I can see.
Let her grow and flourish 
Without me like she did before. 
Let this moment last until it stops. 

        Let the wind of the evening touch my enemies
         While they walk along the grass. 

All the same, the smoke catches and spreads the sun’s light all over, and it does much to dampen the heat. I must offer that there is a certain dull appearance about the sky in places, and so if it wasn’t for the birds singing I might feel as if the vistas of the earth were almost lacking.

Today, I would say that my friend, the earth could be doing better. But so could I, so it is nothing to fret about.

There has been pouring rain this week. There have been colder temperatures and I even saw a tornado, not far away, and not long ago. But not today. Today is a clear and perfectly warm day, there are still many wonderful clouds but all it does is temper the heat, as to make it the perfect temperature for a walk, and we can leave all the doors wide open to let the light inside.

I truly am grateful for this beautiful day.

There are not enough birds and animals around for my taste.
Nonetheless, I have had the honour to see a good number of them
most thankfully and graciously today:

• Sparrows perching on tree bark pecking at seeds

• Two doves eating stuff while a rabbit also ate stuff

• A magpie in a birdbath

This evening, it is quiet in those same spaces.

Or the nice stuff is quiet anyway. 
There is always some hollow hum of some humdrum shit.
Even with the waxing gibbous shining down in the purple sky, 
even on this cloudless night, the tires rub the pavement, 
someone’s power generator... lights? whatever, 
breathes all raspy like a grandpa dog with a cold. 
For a bastion of nothingness the suburbs sure make a damn racket. 

If only we had time for the lapping wind!
If only one of us did
(even I am writing this inside!). 

Long live the evening. 

The blades of grass in the field are, all of them, 
Shining with such brilliant light and glowing
Mother-nature-green as brightly as they can! and yet
The sky is darker than it's ever been.
Three thunderclouds are stacked together 
While the sun shoots out from under them. Nine children 
Run in front of me and twenty eight behind, 
The grass expanse is big and small and medium at the same time.

Why are the sunbeams black, and the shadows glowing? 
I think this is the only frozen dance I've ever seen. 

I stand here, old and young, the future far and near at once,
The present passing, coming by as quick! and now I hear the sound
Of shouts and joyful observations in the wind. 
What moping voice can mope for this? How safe I feel,
How dangerous my life shall be, the clouds appear, 
How calm and hateful are the children, people here, 
The ones about (no longer shout, but don't lose anger)
Never tell a lie unless it works, (you may still learn 
but keep it secret from me). No one's honest, no one hides the truth.
The clouds still drip with sunlight, smelling almost like the rain.  

Firstly, what a privilege it is to have clearness of the nose! that on the inhale and the exhale both, I may indulge in respiration with the smoothness of the morning wind. Happy am I, also to walk with strength in both legs, to maneuver the ankles painlessly, to have dexterity in the joints of the fingers, to have strength for hiking, endurance for supporting the body by the arms, to be flexible, agile, or both, to have serenity in the chest and the bowels, enjoy right placement of the ribs, have a throat lacking in soreness, teeth intact and set in place without aching, eyes that see clearly, ears that hear with nearness often to pleasant sounds, to taste and smell one’s food and to keep it down, to have water, clean and cool or warm, washing down the esophagus with frequency—indeed, to have muscles without knots or cramps, toes that have yet to be squished or badly scrunched, to look forward to a day of liberty without non-chosen obligations, to be granted peaceful dwelling in the yard, a parkside bench or market square (this, in the shade if it is hot, and in the sun if it is cool), to be hateless in the heart, guiltless in the depths of thought, not to have clouds of falsehoods causing fear, not recently to have endured surgery without anesthetic, torture without good cause, humiliation, or agony generally without reprieve—currently, to be located elsewhere than the sewers, the prisons, or long ceremonies not conducive to a wholesome journey with God, to be far away from bad smelling things, odorless toxins, and good-smelling food that isn’t yours to take—otherwise and generally to be in good spirits.

I thank the earth for this day, and all days like it. May endurable situations like these abound in every life for some good time.

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Like milk exploding into tea, grey clouds are
Mixing with the white ones on this descent 
Late spring evening. It smells of wet concrete, 
Even though it’s dry for now. Perhaps 
A few raindrop dots are coming down
Or maybe that’s just what I expect to see. 

I wonder what will interrupt me now? 
I shouldn’t be so proud, I’ve caused this noise
As much as anyone. It’s my bad music 
Drowning out the birdsongs
(I don't know if it’s sparrows with such gentle
Little voices? Despite their rightfulness 
Under the sky, the birds can be annoying too
From time to time. Just not those little guys).
What do I gain from this one-note horseshit?
Pumping ear candy that tells me it’s supposed 
To be upbeat—uplifting nothing! 
Dance-less, loveless, love song knocking deafness
Steals a chance to be alone for vague impressions. 

A little  ‘raindrop’ touched the bottom of my leg,
That’s how you know the brain can jump the 
Gun, (it's having fun with qualia?) 
The little bugger-wire-frame. 

I wonder why God allows such a beautiful sky to float above such an ugly place?

Anyway, it has been a fine day with both temperatures. 
Let the birds cross paths with the planes!
Two magpies cawing now to end the day.
They sound like crows with weak, sore throats.
God loves those little guys.
(Two doves are sitting on the power line).
Love shall rise and fall again.

Man this planet is fine. 
I live here all the time. 

I am pacing between the living room and the kitchen. 
Out the kitchen door is the afternoon sun, shining brightly. 
In the living room someone's playing the guitar. 
I cannot choose whether to bask in the beauty of music or the warmth of the sun.

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Warm sun shone on concrete floor stretching long between rows of greenhouse displays, mostly flowerless in this part of the vast inside garden, mother guiding us along between the tables while the hum of mist sprinklers met our ears some distance off, the kind faced owner standing back with his hands clasped behind him, smiling humbly while she shops. I drag my feet along with no direction of my own, partly wanting to be gone from this place, but the green leaves are a good comfort.

God granted me existence not long before this. Weight from my head and my shoulders pushes me down, strength from my legs holds me up. The pressure of the mist sprinklers on my ears holds my presence while the light goes through the moisture on my eyes. My eyes sit just well in my head, touch these leaves, then those, dotting corners of the jagged green with my attention. There is enough to look at not to get too bored. And so we walk to another table.

This, I decided, as my dry feet touched the dry socks, touched the ground and didn’t hurt, this right here, is now.

I remembered another quiet moment, one with different things and different people. I used to think that was now, but I was wrong. Two things can’t be now at once. This part here, this with all the leaves, this was now. How profound.

Would now last? Well I waited, and it didn’t go away.

I looked at the ground. It was still now.

Now I wasn’t bored at all.